Chapter One: Second Chances

The doorbell rang in the Dursley home at about one o'clock in the morning.

A pause.

Then it rang again, with the addition of some polite but rather hurried knocks.

"Damn! What is it at this hour?!" Vernon thundered, finally storming out of bed and down the stairs in his pajamas as Dudley began wailing from his bedroom.

"Duddy," Petunia cooed, running into the nursery, taking Dudley in her arms, and following down the stairs with him in her nightgown and bathrobe, "Duddy, please don't cry -"

Then Petunia looked up and gave a startled gasp and a shriek.

Albus Dumbledore was standing in her doorway, in purple robes of all things, Vernon standing beside the open door giving him a bewildered stare. Two more freaks were standing behind Albus Dumbledore.

"Petunia," Dumbledore greeted calmly, "good evening."

"Who the bloody hell are you?!" Vernon thundered at last.

"Vernon, calm down. He's one of them," Petunia hissed, moving quickly down the staircase and pulling Dumbledore forward into their house. "Quick, before someone sees you!"

She slammed the door on the other two's faces, hoping they'd stay out in the street and safely away from the Dursley house, where they belonged.

"What are you doing here?" Petunia demanded - and then paused as she saw the toddler girl in Dumbledore's arms.

She was swaddled tight, but she was a pretty little thing. Small and delicate, with a heart shaped face, high cheekbones, elegant and delicate small features, and a head of wild black curls of hair. She opened her eyes and Petunia gasped.

The eyes were a vivid, deep green with black lashes in a pale face.

"What - who -?" Petunia began faintly.

"There was a war in our world," said Dumbledore. "Your younger sister and her husband were just killed in it. This is your niece, Ianthe. You are now her only living relatives."

"Well I'm not having someone like that in our house," Vernon began angrily, "and as for the Potters, I bet they got what they deserved -!"

"I am afraid I have to disagree," said Dumbledore quietly. "You see, they fought in the war because they were defending people like you."

Vernon was struck silent, his mouth slightly open. Petunia went white as a sheet.

"Shall we sit down?" Dumbledore suggested, nodding to the kitchen table in the big, spacious, white and minimalist Surrey suburban house.

"And that," said Dumbledore seriously at the end, "is the story of the Blood War and how the Potters died."

Vernon had his head in his hand. Petunia was trying to blink away angry, blinding tears. Neither, for once, had anything to say.

"Now how does this concern you?" said Dumbledore. "While Ianthe is living with blood, Lily's choice to die for her child and her blood sacrifice extends to your entire place of residence. Here, and only here, Ianthe is safe.

"So not only did your sister die defending your right to live, she chose to die defending her child. You can both respect at least one of those things, I think," Dumbledore finished quietly.

"… They may have died for a good cause," said Vernon begrudgingly.

"And sacrificing oneself for one's child is… worth something, as a mother," Petunia admitted with reserved distaste.

"In fact, many things about Ianthe's birth threw everything into disarray," said Dumbledore. "A prophecy about Voldemort's defeat prompted Voldemort to attack the Potters. The problem is, the prophecy predicted a boy and Voldemort attacked the only available girl - not having heard the full thing.

"Which means the prophecy no longer applies. Added to that, Ollivander has just recently made another twin wand core of Voldemort's out of a third phoenix feather Fawkes gave - as if some child were originally supposed to have the wand from the second feather instead. The new wand is made from black ebony, the sign of determined uniqueness and firm rebels.

"You understand none of this," Dumbledore acknowledged at the Dursleys' blank stares. "But the point is, Voldemort will be after this child.

"You can see his twisted reasoning in attacking her. Society is such that when people hear a man might be eventually defeated by a woman, they think strange things. Voldemort set out on a quest to ensure this half-blood girl, so much like himself, held no such actual 'weak' emotional sway over him.

"As it is, the rumors have just become stronger. People bandy about words like 'love', a word Voldemort has never in all honesty understood.

"So I cannot tell if at this point he would try to kill her or kidnap her - or try one and then the other. It really could go either way. The fascination would definitely be there.

"And this further complicates things."

Dumbledore delicately lifted Ianthe's arm out of her bundle of blankets and revealed an intricate symbol.

"In our world, each witch or wizard is born with a mark shared only by their soulmate," said Dumbledore. "I have seen this mark on one other person, and it is the boy named Tom Riddle who eventually became Lord Voldemort."

"So that man is -?"

"Almost," Dumbledore acknowledged. "That would be the first natural thought, wouldn't it? But a broken, tattered soul cannot have a soulmate. When Voldemort became what he is today, the mark was erased - something he probably noted with a great modicum of satisfaction.

"In other words, Ianthe's soulmate is the person with a fuller soul - Tom Riddle.

"And I do not know what this means. It could mean she is destined to connect herself with a Horcrux that might end up having different experiences. It could mean that at the end Voldemort's soul might eventually heal itself - that he and the Horcruxes might become the same person.

"I do not know.

"What I do know is that in all likelihood the magics and souls are connected of two people who will grow up hating one another. These are definitely two chess pieces on opposite sides of the aisle, prophecy or no prophecy.

"It is best," he said, "if Ianthe never know what this mark truly means. So many things could go wrong. I do not know if destiny would ever bring these two together - perhaps that is the hope of an old man with regrets - but we must never encourage such a thing.

"There is no guarantee Ianthe Potter could ever heal the soul of Tom Riddle."

"What's with the name?" Vernon added, bewildered.

"Ianthe?" Dumbledore smiled. "An ancient Peverell married into the Potter family. Her name was Iolanthe, which is Greek for 'violet flower.' Lily and James Potter shortened that to the more modern and casual Ianthe - also 'violet flower.'

"I must say," Dumbledore admitted, "I would prefer if Ianthe grow up with no idea she is famous or special in our world - without a swelled head. She cannot be spoiled, and should not even be told of her magic or her past until she is much older.

"That said, suppressing magic or trying to simply creates beings called Obscurials - angry forces of Dark, uncontrollable magic. So Ianthe's magic should be left to its own devices."

"So if we take her in - we'd have to accept her as she is," Vernon said suspiciously. "There is no stamping the magic out."

"Correct."

Vernon and Petunia shared a glance.

"So she can't be spoiled - and her magic can't be suppressed," said Petunia slowly. "And the Potters died defending people like us, and Lily died for her child - and we can honor both of those things and protect her by taking her in."

"I have no personal problem with the girl," Vernon admitted. "I hated her father, but it's easier to think of a daughter as Lily's, especially as they share the same eyes. I never had any personal problems with Lily.

"I just don't like the idea of taking in freaks from a strange world."

"From a strange world?" Dumbledore echoed softly, thoughtfully. "If I may… might I be able to make it… less strange? Our world has, among other things, a government, laws, newspapers, politics, banks, small businesses, schooling, career paths, pubs, restaurants, shops, and modes of transport. We even have a prison. And our magic has laws, just as science does.

"How would you like it if I tried to make the wizarding world… less strange?"

Vernon paused, looking curious. Dumbledore was sharp-eyed, thoughtful - as if the idea he'd just had surprised even him.

"It sounds like a fine idea," Vernon admitted at the end, turning to Petunia. "She'd still have a full life. Just slightly different from what we're used to. We could still raise her.

"We'd have to teach Dudley to treat her well, of course. She being his sister and all. She'd have to be raised like a girl."

Petunia was staring at Ianthe, mixed with confusion and distaste. "Every time I look into those eyes, I see my sister," she whispered.

"You always wanted a daughter," Vernon reminded her.

Petunia's head shot up, vulnerable, her eyes wide.

"If I may, Petunia," said Dumbledore, "I am not foolish enough to talk of second chances with your sister."

"Good," said Petunia fiercely.

"But might this not be a second chance to guide someone ensconced with magic into the wizarding world? To play more of a hand in it? A connection to a child is different from a connection to a sister, in this matter."

"Petunia?" said Vernon, as Petunia looked down at the baby boy in her own arms.

"… I don't want Dudley to feel ignored like I did," Petunia whispered.

"This is the perfect chance," Dumbledore countered calmly, "to right that wrong as well as the first. To treat them both well - and equally. That means not spoiling Dudley anymore than you spoil Ianthe.

"This is your chance to make Dudley and Ianthe exactly what you and Lily were not - equals."

Vernon seemed to process the implication that Petunia had once wanted to be a witch. He was, after all, not a stupid man.

"… I'll do it," Petunia whispered, staring sharply at Ianthe, becoming determined. "I'll take her in."

"We'll take the job!" said Vernon firmly.

Dumbledore stood in relief. "I thought, with all these changes, it might be helpful if we had the conversation in person. How fortuitous," he said in relief. "A little girl should not grow up with such a dark childhood.

"If I may," he added cheerfully, "her father was extremely good at flying, and she is said to have inherited his gift. In your sports terms, this means she is unusually good at being physically quick, graceful, and artistic."

Petunia gasped. "She could take dance!" she said, her eyes dazzled. "Figure skating!"

"And with that," said Dumbledore, depositing Ianthe in Vernon's uncertain arms, "I will take my leave. Her letter back to us for boarding school will come," he added seriously, "on the summer of her eleventh birthday.

"A trip to get her Hogwarts things as a birthday gift might be ideal.

"Do try to ignore the scar on her forehead," he finished. "I believe it may come in very handy someday."